Train to Brugge

A little boy's lower back
reminds me of you,
and I think about child pornography.
I know it's wrong
to still think of you
after all this time,
but I do and can't help it.

night driving

The road into Charleston smells sour
marshes of sweat from the back of a man who needs a shower,
blueberries left to rot on the bush.
As soon as skin touches air a film forms
damp and sticky
after sex feeling
blowing into my car window.